


The Term is Over

by lieslwritesthings



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-10-30 18:46:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17834096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lieslwritesthings/pseuds/lieslwritesthings
Summary: It's 1949, and Susan hears the news about a railway accident.





	The Term is Over

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: this only focuses on Susan, so the character tags for the rest of the Pevensies are because they're mentioned in Susan's narration, but none of them make any appearances, for what are probably obvious reasons.

She hardly remembers the details of finding out the news. The day had been perfectly fine and normal, until those few awful, terrible words: “Susan, have you seen this? Wasn’t that the train your parents were taking to Bristol?” **  
**

Everything’s a bit of a blur after that. She remembers finding a telephone and fumbling for enough change to call Edmund, and then Peter, and almost crying in frustration when neither of them answered. Then she remembers Mother having said something about Peter, Edmund, and Lucy going out to the Professor’s country cottage with cousin Eustace and his friend Jill. (Of course they aren’t here when she needs them, and the Professor hasn’t got a telephone. No one except Mother had bothered to even tell her, which she supposes isn’t terribly strange, since Eustace doesn’t speak with her at all anymore, and Peter and Lucy haven’t spoken with her a whole lot the last few years, and every time they have, they’ve both been terrifically judgmental about absolutely everything, especially Peter.) She vaguely remembers one of her friends offering to send them a wire, and she thinks she’d nodded, then made her way to the nearest train station. The station had been chaotic, filled with people who had heard about the crash and were checking if there was any information on their loved ones yet. There wasn’t much yet, and unfortunately the best thing to do was to get on a train to get out to the station where the crash had occurred. 

It’s frightfully uncomfortable, getting onto a train right after hearing about a horrible crash, and Susan remembers wishing the whole time that Peter was there to hold her hand and know what to do once they’re there. Instead of Peter’s, she held the hand of a woman probably only a few years older than her mother, who sobbed the whole ride. Susan doesn’t remember crying on the train. Perhaps it was the shock, or perhaps it was because she kept trying to think of what Peter would say, and he’d tell her to buck up so she can think straight. 

Because of the crash, the train can’t take them all the way to the station, and it’s a fair step down from the train car all the way to the grass on either side of the tracks. The heel of her shoe sinks into the soft grass and she almost loses her balance, but catches herself before she can fall. They can’t even see the station or the train from as far away as they’ve stopped, but there’s a hideous smell in the air, and plumes of smoke from further up the tracks. It makes her stomach turn, and she thinks she might be sick. 

There are policemen and railway officials and railway workers already set up, but Susan’s heart is pounding too loudly for her to really be able to hear what they’re saying. Something about the brakes failing, the train being unable to stop, and having derailed then crashed into the station, and something about a list of passengers confirmed to have been on the train and to come ask. (Yes, yes that makes sense – and maybe Mother and Father missed their train. That’s certainly possible, isn’t it? If Mother had been behind schedule making sure she’d packed all of her hats? Yes, maybe they missed it and weren’t here at all and she’ll just go back to London and all she’ll have to do is scold Peter and Edmund for not having answered the telephone.) It’s more of a cluster than a queue, with everyone wanting to know right away about their loved ones. Susan finds herself jostled backwards more than a few times. Edmund would have just taken her arm and pushed their way up front, but she doesn’t. She lets other people push past her; there’s a cold, terrible gnawing in her stomach and she’s so afraid of what she might hear, she doesn’t want to ask, but she can’t stand the waiting, either, and she wants to know just as much as she doesn’t want to know. 

She’s almost out of breath by the time she has a turn to check the list, and she can scarcely get out “Pevensie” along with her parents names. 

The confirmation of them having been on the train is awful, but not quite so awful as what comes next. “There’s a Lucy Pevensie on the manifest as well, miss, any relation?” 

“ _Lucy_?” 

“Yes, miss.” 

“That’s – but – I don’t – thank you.” She doesn’t know what to say, or what to ask, and she doesn’t understand it at all. Why would Lucy be on the train? Lucy hadn’t even been with their parents. 

“Susan – Susan!” She turns to see Edmund’s flatmate hurrying over to her, and for a minute she feels utter relief wash over her. If Edmund and Francis are here, at least Edmund will know what to do, and maybe he’ll be able to tell her why Lucy was on the train with their parents instead of with him and Peter at the Professor’s like Mother had said she was – or maybe he’ll tell her that Lucy  _is_  up at the Professor’s and that there must be some other Lucy Pevensie who’d been on the train. (It occurs to her in that moment that of course Edmund would have known that was the train their parents were on to Bristol; he’s always been the sort of person to know things about trains and railway schedules.) It’s briefly comforting to know that Edmund had been on the same train as her coming out here. 

“Oh, Frank, it’s just awful, Lucy was on that train, too – where’s Edmund? I need to tell him about Lucy–” 

It’s only then when she notices how odd his face looks. “He was here, Susan.” 

She doesn’t understand. “Well yes, he’s come with you, hasn’t he?” 

“No, Susan: he and Peter were at this station to meet Lucy.” 

“What?” She still doesn’t understand. It doesn’t make sense, and she’s sure that she’s hearing him wrong. 

“I ran into Ed and Peter last night at the flat, he said they’d come to fetch something and were taking a train out to this station today, to meet your sister and cousin What’s-His-Name, and some professor who were coming on this train. Something about rings and it being important and not having time to explain.” 

No, that can’t be right. It just can’t be, it’s too horrible to be right. For a long second she just stares at Francis, unsure whether or not she can even find a way to process the words he’s just said, at least not when they’ve been strung together in the order in which he’s said them. 

“Susan?” 

She doesn’t answer him, but turns very sharply and pushes her way back up to the railway official with the manifest. “Was Professor Kirke – Digory Kirke – was he on the train?” 

“Miss, you need to let everyone have a–” 

“ _I need to know about Digory Kirke!_ ” Her voice pitches upwards shrilly, the shock just beginning to make way for a terrible, unbearable dread in the pit of her stomach. 

Yes, Digory Kirke had been on the train. Her voice is hardly more than a whisper (and it’s surprising that the official is able to hear her at all, over the clamor around them) as she asks about Eustace, then Aunt Polly, and then Jill, though she fumbles for a split second over the name of her cousin’s friend. They had all been on the train. 

And Peter and Edmund at the station to meet them. 

The next thing she remembers is sitting in what she realizes must be the lobby of the village hotel. There’s a cup of tea in her hands, and her hands are shaking so much that it’s probably a wonder that there’s any tea inside the cup. She can’t remember how she got here, but Francis is sitting opposite her, looking at her like she might break into pieces while he’s saying something that she can’t hear, and she’s sure he must have brought her. (How odd, that she can’t remember it; the last thing she remembers is the awful realization that – no, she tries not to think of that again, but her hands shake all the more, and it rattles the teacup against the saucer.) Her throat feels raw, like she’s been screaming, even though she doesn’t remember that, and her chest feels tight and burning, like she’s been crying. There’s mud on her skirt; she doesn’t remember how it got there. 

She runs her thumb along the rim of the teacup. She’d take a sip, but she doesn’t think her hands will be steady enough to lift the cup all the way to her lips. So she just looks down at it; she’s already sloshed tea onto the saucer. She doesn’t know why, but somehow it reminds her of a time she chided Edmund for spilling tea onto his saucer when he’d been too impatient to wait to let her pour the tea, and he’d then set his cup down onto her new doilies without the saucer and stained them. 

Her vision goes blurry, and the tightness in her chest constricts even more. 

(Bits of it come back. Only in little flashes, but she remembers screaming for Edmund, and being gripped by some sudden, illogical, futile but desperate urge to run to look for her brothers. Francis grabbing her before she can get very far, holding onto her arms even as she’s frantic to get past him, begging him to let her go look for them – begging someone to go look for them, they could still be there, they could just be trapped beneath something, they could be there, how does anyone know they aren’t alive? How do they know, how can they  _know_ , until she’s looked for them? Screaming for Edmund and Peter as though they just hadn’t heard her yet and would come as soon as they knew she needed them. Her screams breaking into helpless sobs and collapsing onto her knees, unable to keep herself upright anymore even with Francis trying to hold her up….) 

“Susan?” 

She can barely hear him saying her name, as though he’s speaking to her from so very far away, and through some sort of fog that dampens the sound as much as the sights. It almost feels like she has to force her eyes to focus on him. She has to blink a few times, that’s for sure. 

“Susan?” He says her name again, like he’s not sure she’s hearing him yet, even though she’s looking at him now. (He must have been telling her something before, when he’d been speaking but she hadn’t been hearing him at all; she has no idea what he’d said, even now.) She nods to let him know she’s listening. She isn’t sure she trusts herself to do much more. “Do you want me to call someone for you? Are you seeing someone right now? Should I call him? Who can I call, Su?” 

_Peter_ , she thinks, but as immediately as her older brother’s name comes to her mind, she remembers again that she can’t call Peter. Ever again. She shakes her head instead; she isn’t seeing anyone, she somehow suddenly can’t even think of any of her friends’ names, as though there’s just a large empty space in her mind where she should have an answer to: _who can I call, Su?_  No one. There isn’t anyone she wants as badly as she wants the only people she can’t have anymore. 

Oh wait.  _Call_. Call, she does need to make a call. “I need–” it’s painful to speak, and she can hear her voice sounding raspy and hoarse. She swallows and starts again, still strained. “I need to call Aunt Alberta. And Uncle Harold.” She doesn’t know if they know. She doesn’t know if they knew which train Eustace was on, and they should know. She should tell them. She doesn’t know how she’s going to, but she should. 

“Okay, I’ll call them.” 

She shakes her head. “No, I can.” She doesn’t know if she can. But she must, so she will. 


End file.
